We cut to C-Note and Sucre, who already have a Miami safe house that will be just perfect for torturing T-Bag. And after getting the season four backstory from Kellerman via his still-working phone, C-Note is in the mood to visit unto T-Bag a new world of hurt. Sucre plays good cop, though, telling T-Bag that if he gives up the General's location, he can help put T-Bag's name on an immunity list. Despite being tied up and facing a certain beatdown from C-Note, T-Bag refuses: "From where I'm sitting, albeit momentarily compromised, you're backing the wrong horse. Scofield cannot pull this out. You help me get him to the General and we are set for life!" C-Note's all, "I don't have time for this," and the crunchy beatdown commences.

We cut to the General, who is getting an update from the ever-loyal Receding Hairline Goon on how T-Bag has probably been captured, as there is no way his minder goon would have let him escape. The General muses, "So we're exposed here. Is this the end? Whimpering?" Receding Hairline Goon says, "There's no shame in retreating to regroup, sir." Translation: I will love you forever and ever, amen. Do you like Randy Travis songs? Because that's how I feel every time I look at your face, even the flambéed side. The General is not receptive to his subtle message. Aaaand, it turns out that the One World Conspiracy just locked on to Linc's cell phone in a location downtown.

Michael and Linc are sitting outside the hospital having a chat/wheeze over whether or not to trust Kellerman and turn over Scylla. Linc points out that the whole point was to be free, and if this is what does it, then he's for it. Michael's clearly thinking it over, and Linc says, "If you have to leave, Michael, you should." Michael sets him straight: "I'm not leaving you, Linc. You're my brother." Linc says, "Not according to Christina." "Don't let her mess with your head ... it doesn't matter what she said. It doesn't change anything. You are stuck with me whether you like it or not," Michael says. Awww! I am going to assume the brothers are so overwhelmed by emotion, they can't stand to look at each other.

Inside that very same hospital, the FBI agents are debating the ethics of treating Don Self promptly versus withholding treatment until they get what they want from him. Don Self more or less settles the debate for them when, instead of writing down anything useful on the little notepad he's been given, he scribbles, "Kiss my ass." I could almost pity Don Self, as even before this accident, he was not what we like to call a strong long-term thinker, and his bullheaded stupidity now has really done him in this time.